


After Care

by PuppetMaster55



Series: shance fluff week [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Shance Fluff Week 2017, ShanceFluffWeek, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 09:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11145579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppetMaster55/pseuds/PuppetMaster55
Summary: Shiro's hit hard after a mission, and Lance is there to help piece him together.





	After Care

Shiro stumbled into his room, barely making it two steps in before collapsing to his knees. His right hand was clenched tightly, sending shooting pain up his arm. He knew it wasn't real, knew that he couldn't feel anything with that hand, but he swore he could feel the pain of his nails digging into his palm, swore he could feel the tension of his knuckles as the skin pulled tight and white over them.

The mission had been hard, harder than expected, and they had had to fight their way out. Shiro supposed, in hindsight, that breaking into and out of a prison was never going to be easy. He'd come into contact with one of the sentries wielding an uncomfortably familiar whip-like weapon, and had been on edge since.

Even now, he could feel it, could feel the sting and the pain and the bleeding that came from the whip dragging itself across his skin, slashing over his face.

The lights bled purple at the edges of his vision, and Shiro started, pulling himself up against the wall and looking around frantically for someplace to hide, someplace to crawl into and defend himself. With a light swoosh, the door opened, and Shiro gasped, trying to catch a breath that outran him at every inhale.

“Shiro?” someone called out, and Shiro's vision blurred even more, blurred with tears and blurred with purple. And through the purple tint, through the tears, something blue appeared. Whoever it was stepped into the room, slowly, carefully. “Hey, it's okay. I'm here. You're safe.” The figure stopped several feet away from Shiro, and crouched down to his level. “Can I approach you? Can I come closer?”

The tears blurred Shiro's vision more, and all he could see was the blue. Blue was good, blue was familiar, as familiar as Shiro's own skin. Blue meant safety.

He nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat, felt the sobs he kept swallowing down push their way up. The figure moved closer, still crouched down. “Is it alright to touch you? You're still okay. You're still safe. I'm here. You're here. You're still safe.”

The figure's voice was soft, was low, was familiar in a way that slipped through Shiro's mind like water (even then, he couldn't get away from the idea that whoever was speaking, whoever the figure was, was like water, constant and eternal and ever-changing and so so important to living) and Shiro gasped, still unable to speak. He nodded, sniffling.

“Okay,” the figure said, reaching out. “I'm going to wipe away the snot and tears, okay? It's just my thumb, you're not in danger. You're safe. You're here.”

Shiro felt two thumbs brush over his cheeks, and pulled back, startled and afraid. He nearly lashed out at the figure, nearly bit the hands.

“It's okay. It's okay. Alright. I'll lose the gloves. And the armor.” The figure paused again, shuffling, and the blue left it, leaving behind richly tanned skin and vague black lines. Two hands reached out, just as richly brown, and gently wiped at Shiro's face. He leaned into the touch, leaned into the warmth. “Okay. It's okay. You're here.” The figure sighed. “Can I get your armor off?”

Shiro felt his chest clench, and furiously shook his head. His armor was– it was–

His chest constricted, the armor feeling confining, and he let out a short sob, nodding once, short and sharp. The figure's hands slid down, unlatching and tugging at the armor, leaving Shiro shivering and bare. His right hand clenched tighter, and he gasped, finally able to breathe.

“Alright, that's better.” The figure's hand reached out, toward Shiro's right hand, toward his arm. “Can you loosen this up?” Shiro furiously shook his head, and the figure – his tears were clearing up a bit, and he thought he saw the person wince. “Okay. Is it hurting you? It looks like it's hurting you.”

Shiro nodded, feeling his nails dig deeper into his palm. Tears flowed down his cheeks, and he tried to catch his breath. It was easier, but still his breath was just out of reach. If he could just– if he–

Shiro gasped in pain, gasped again, and felt long arms wrap around him.

“It's alright. You're here. You're safe.” The figure hugged him tight, and froze. “You're hot and sweaty, but you're safe.” Shiro felt the figure turn his head, and wondered at the softness of their skin, was comforted at the warmth of having another body pressed against his. “Can I take this off? If it's hurting you, we can take it off.”

Shiro looked at the figure in confusion and fear, unable to understand what he was saying. Take it off? His hand? He wanted to _take_ Shiro's hand?

“I'm sorry!” The figure cried, pulling back. “It's okay. It's – it's a prosthetic. It's not your _actual_ hand. I just... if it's hurting you, we can take it off. Besides, you really need a nice shower. A nice, hot shower can help. Do you want a shower?”

Shiro tried to recall what a shower was, and nodded. He still worked on speaking, still tried to work around the lump in his throat.

“Okay. That's good. You're doing so good, Shiro,” the figure praised. “Now, about that prosthetic hand? I don't think you're supposed to shower with it on.”

Shiro looked down at his hand, looked and saw the metal. He felt strange, felt strangely disconnected from himself. He could feel his hand, still, could feel his nails digging into his palm, and yet... here it wasn't. It wasn't real, the pain... imagined? Had he made it all up?

Shiro looked up at the figure, blinking away tears. He saw blue eyes, saw beautiful blue eyes like the stars, and nodded. Slowly, tentatively, the figure – and now, Shiro was sure he knew this person, sure he knew their name – reached and pulled at the armor covering his upper arm. It came loose easily enough, and Shiro hissed when, with a twist and a tug, the hand came loose and off. He saw the hand fall limp, saw the black sleeve pulled away, saw his arm – saw how it ended below the elbow.

“Okay,” the figure said, his name still slipping through Shiro's grasp like water. “Okay. Let's get you in the shower.”

The figure pulled away, pulled at Shiro's other hand, pulling him to his feet. Shiro clung tightly with his remaining hand, not wanting to let go. He was pulled along, into another room – a bathroom, Shiro realized – and toward a shower stall. The figure stopped before the stall, reaching out with one hand, and turning on the water. He tried to let go of Shiro, but Shiro resisted, panicking and pulling the figure close.

Shiro wrapped his arms around the figure, as tightly as he could, as lightly as he could, so the figure wouldn't leave, but wouldn't be hurt. He didn't want to hurt the figure, didn't want him to leave Shiro alone.

“Okay.” The figure nodded, breathing out slowly. “Alright, I can stay. Just– let's– let's get the rest of this armor off. Is that okay?”

Shiro nodded, loosening his hold. He half-heartedly tugged at his pants, while the figure – Shiro wished, desperately, that his mind could put itself back together enough for him to remember his name, but it kept feeling like he was grasping at water with no cup to hold it – helped him get undressed, before undressing himself.

Together, they stepped into the shower, and Shiro felt hands wrap around him from behind, gently pulling him down, down, until he was sitting on the floor of the stall, warm water cascading down, and pressed against the figure.

“Let's stay here a while,” the figure said. “You can close your eyes if you want. Just let the water flow. Focus on that. Focus on me, pressed against you, holding you. You're safe, Shiro.”

“I-I'm safe,” Shiro repeated, feeling tension bleed away from him, feeling it bleed and bleed and bleed, flowing away with the water. He closed his eyes, and sat there, pressed against Lance, and let himself feel. He breathed out, easier than before, and breathed in, long and slow.

Shiro didn't know how long they had sat there, didn't know how long it took, but he eventually opened his eyes and was back to himself.

“Thank you,” Shiro began, pulling away to lean forward, pulling away to stand. Lance stood too, hands still wrapped around Shiro's midsection. “Can we– can this...”

Shiro looked at his stump, looked at the soap, and Lance slid around him, giving Shiro a soft smile the whole way. “It's alright. Let's get cleaned up, then to bed.”

“Can you–” Shiro swallowed past the lump in his throat, still there but smaller, more manageable. “Can you stay? I don't–”

“Of course.” Lance smiled up at Shiro, smiled with all the fondness and love that Shiro needed. He grabbed onto the soap, and set to work, scrubbing the both of them spotless. He didn't comment on Shiro's nakedness, or his own, and gently handed the bar over when it was time to clean certain areas of Shiro's body.

Soon enough, they were clean, and stepping out of the shower. The towel was thin and soft, but even wrapping it around himself felt like too much, felt too confining.

“I don't–” Shiro shook his head, trying to find the words. “Too much. It's all just too much.”

“Alright then.” Lance paused, drying himself off before taking Shiro's towel and helping him dry off. “I guess clothes is out for bed cuddling too?”

He glanced at the clothes, set aside for him to wear, and grimaced. “It's too much.”

Shiro was back to himself, but not that much, not enough to be a person again.

“Okay.” Lance nodded, pulling Shiro along. “What about blankets? Would that be too much?”

Shiro shook his head. Blankets were fine enough – they didn't cling or confine, didn't restrict Shiro's movements. “Blankets are fine.”

Lance led Shiro to bed, and waited until Shiro was in before climbing under the covers with him. Once again Shiro felt Lance's arms wrap around him, felt the warmth hold him close, felt the softness of Lance against him, and he sighed. Shiro yawned, exhaustion settling in, and snuggled up against Lance, snuggled into the cuddle.

“Thank you,” Shiro mumbled, halfway to sleep. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Lance murmured, holding Shiro close.

 


End file.
